


Pandemonium

by Thelittlescrimshaw



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I am Reylo trash, Smut, becomes more kylo-centric later on, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6634810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelittlescrimshaw/pseuds/Thelittlescrimshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a place of many demons, and hers just happened to play well with his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NO LONGER A TWO SHOT.  
> The second chapter it will really earn its M rating. Mostly a PWP, but I love my angst and smut to go hand in hand with these two ;)
> 
> NB: "Pandemonium" was coined by John Milton for Paradise Lost, meaning "place of all demons."

.

.

.

He isn’t sure how this started, couldn’t pinpoint when or where or why, but he is sure of this: the storm inside of him has settled. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.

He’s not sure of much, now.

In moments like this, his world narrows: the warm, alive, feeling of her skin on his skin, her breath ruffling his hair, her nails digging into his shoulder, trying to get closer, closer, closer. It’s not enough, it’s never enough, but it is what he needs, for now.

.

.

.

It began with a disturbance in the Force.

Rey knows this sure as she knows anything. Her mind is intact, her judgement not blurred. She’d thought she’d been alone on this planet, but she was wrong. When she sensed it, angry, pulsating, late in the night, she followed it, saber in hand. She hadn’t expected to find Kylo Ren pacing like a caged animal, helmet off, hair in a disarray, eyes wild around the edges.

She did what any rational Jedi-in-training would do: drew her saber and attacked.

Kylo block, parried, and they were engaged in yet another furious duel.

After, they broke apart, panting and exhausted. They locked eyes, blades still drawn.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said at length.

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted…” he trailed off. Rey could only imagine what it was that he sought out.

“Did you find it?” she prodded, clicking her saber shut.

His face was unreadable. “I think so.”

.

.

.

She’d caught him again, on her little refuge planet, and attacked. They’re sparring again – that’s what it is, really, sparring – when he trips, falling inelegantly, and she overbalances and lands on top of him. She props herself up and grins. “I win this round,” she says, a small glint in her eye, and Kylo Ren can only think that she reminds him of a lightsaber, buzzing with energy. He raises a gloved hand to her face, brushing away the blood from a small scratch. It’s a pretense, it’s always a pretense, he needs _warm, alive, touch,_ but it’s not something he can admit aloud.

It’s his only form of self-denial, necessary in order to bury Ben Solo; no father, no family, no soul.

He’s not sure how long he gazes at her before she shifts, and suddenly she’s laying on her back next to him, close but not touching. “I’ve never been to this quadrant of the galaxy,” she says. “The stars are different.”

It’s been so long since he’s looked up at the stars. He looks at her, face awash in moonlight, and can’t help but think she looks young – too young to have experienced such loneliness. It’s loneliness that’s driven her to strike up a training relationship with him, and it’s loneliness that drives her to lay supine next to him and talk about the _stars,_ of all things.

“It’s better in the winter,” he remarks. At her look, he says, “I’ve been frequenting this planet longer than you have.”

She frowns. “How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-nine,” he says, after a moment’s hesitance, and resolutely does not meet her eyes.

.

.

.

And that’s how they ended most sparring sessions. One morning he wakes up, having accidentally fallen asleep on the planet, and she’s curled into him, hands clutching his robes and face buried into his chest. Her head is rested on his bicep, and his other arm is thrown resolutely around her waist. His back aches and his arm has long since fallen asleep, but he doesn’t move: her touch is warm and her presence is firm, and Kylo Ren is convinced that that was the soundest he’s ever slept in his entire life. He shuts his eyes, savoring the moment, and does his best to pretend he’s asleep when Rey wakes, makes a small, surprised noise, and shimmies away.

He does his best not to feel broken.

.

.

.

Night after night he returns to her small, desolate planet; night after night, they spar. More nights than not he lays down; each night, she inches closer to him. She needs this as much as he does, he knows – but he knows she is less depraved about it, less starved. She is curious, and full of want, but she is not warped. She is cracked, but not shattered.

One night, when he is feeling particularly brave, he reaches out and lightly, touches her hand.

He tries not to let the tiny, almost imperceptible pressure of her fingers into his excite him too much.

.

.

.

He’s taken to laying his coat out on the ground as a small blanket beneath them. The summer heat is enough to keep them warm, and if his arms are bare then there is more skin, more touching, more _warm._

He leans into her touch, her back to his chest, their legs intertwined. It is not enough, it will never be enough, but for now, in this moment, he will be content.

.

.

.

One particularly humid night, he strips off his shirt before they spar – partly to avoid a sweaty, sticky mess, and partly to gauge her reaction. He does not know if he is attractive, he has never lain with a woman, but he is not daft. He does not care if he is attractive, but he does care to know if she is attracted to him.

She emits a small sound, but it is not appreciation – it is pity. He stops, for a moment, before remembering the state of his back. Snoke’s punishments always left marks, ones he’s long forgotten about now.

And he is ashamed. Even something as mundane as a mating ritual has been marred, warped, damaged beyond repair for him.

That night, she sits next to him. He has a head in her lap, and her fingers are combing through his hair. He is still not wearing a shirt. He hand comes down, forefinger tracing the scar on his face, hand cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and before he knows what he’s doing, he presses a closed-mouth kiss to her palm.

Maybe he’s crossed a line and maybe he’s transgressive, but if feels _good, natural, right,_ things he hasn’t felt in a long time. He takes her continued touch as resignation, if not acquiescence, and catches her hand and holds it to his chest.

.

.

.

He’s killed Snoke and disbanded the First Order; word of this has travelled to the resistance. It doesn’t make up for his deeds, not really, but it is enough to assuage Rey’s disgust and horror. It does not explain his increasingly haggard look, the stoop to his shoulders, the tiredness in the corners of his eyes.

She’s seen that look, she’s recognized that look in herself, in Finn, and now in this broken man-boy who touches her as if she could break but fights her like a warrior.

.

 

.

Layer by layer they expose themselves to each other more. It could be blamed on the rising summer heat, and that’s what Kylo Ren initially chalks it up to when she arrives in a sleeveless tunic and pants that cut above her knee. When the tunic becomes a soft shirt and the pants become shorter, he wonders if she’s just as touch starved as him.

That night, there’s no postulating. He lays down and she immediately rests her head on his chest. He wonders if she can hear his heartbeat. He wonders if she knows what his heart has to say.

.

.

.

The night when things come to a head is a night when he can feel himself coming undone; she’s not enough to stop the pain, not enough to make him whole, not enough, never enough. _No father, no mother, no family._

“You’re off tonight,” she remarks, before they spar, before they enact their ritual of her pretending to attack and he pretending to defend before they revel in another’s touch. Suddenly, irrationally, he’s angry at the ritual, and he knows she can sense it.

“I just want to sleep,” he says, and he realizes that it’s true.

She blinks at him. “Then sleep.”

He swallows. “I can’t. I would if I could. But I can’t if you’re not…” he trails off and curses, resists the urge to destroy, to smash her to him until she ceases to exist, until they are not Rey and Kylo but _one_.

He nearly jumps when she touches his arm. “Then let’s sleep.”                                                               

.

.

.

His ship is built for speed, not for luxury, but he is the First Knight of Ren: his sleeping quarters are befitting his rank. The bed is soft, much more comfortable than the ground. He pauses for a minute before stripping off his undershirt and climbing into bed. She follows him, slipping under the blankets. He pauses for only a moment before he pulls her closer, arms enveloping her form. She’s small enough that his frame completely encompasses her, his arm resolutely draped around the dip in her waist. She reaches up and catches his hand in her own, curling her fingers around his. He presses a chaste kiss to the back of her head, and falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.

.

.

.

Rey wakes up in the middle of the night, in desperate need of the ‘fresher. Discreetly as she could, she squirms away from the lanky form of Kylo Ren and gets up, quietly making her way to relieve herself.

She does not think of how she is sharing a bed with a Jedi killer, with a First Order defector, with a monster, with a deeply troubled man. This was a place of many demons, and hers just happened to play nice with his. She could forget who she used to be, forget Jakku, forget responsibilities and _loneliness._

It is then that she leaves the ship, in desperate need of a walk, in desperate need to clear her head of demons that aren’t her own.

When she returns, he is pacing frantically. His pants hang low on his hips and his hair is mussed from sleep.

She makes a small noise, deliberately alerting him to her presence.

He whirls around and it might be her imagination, but she thinks he breathes her name. _“Rey.”_

The light creates a sharp contrast along his body, and Rey can count every individual scar – including the one that she gave him. She feels hot under his gaze, can feel the desperation, the _need_ rolling off him in waves.

“What’s wrong?” she asks finally, breaking their silent staring contest.  

“I thought,” he said, and his voice is raspy and dry. “I thought you had left.”

Rey shook her head. “Just needed to…” she trailed off and gestured towards the ‘fresher.

He nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s scarcely above a whisper. He sits on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, arms and legs too long for him to sit gracefully. “I heard you leave the ship. I thought you’d…”

 _Come to your senses_ was left unsaid.

Rey sighs and sits next to him. “What are we doing, Kylo? This isn’t…” _healthy, stable,_ “…good.”

He turns to her and catches her hand between his. It is then Rey realizes how large his hands are, how long his fingers are; he absolutely dwarfs her smaller, more delicate hand. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” she says, holding his gaze. “It’s – this isn’t how you fix things inside of you.”

“Don’t act like you don’t feel it too,” he said, and there’s something so fragile, so _vulnerable_ in his voice that she’s compelled to brush the hair out of his face and tuck it behind an ear. He leans into her touch, positively _reveling_ in it, and Rey can’t help but wonder who made him into this.

“Don’t expect me to fix you,” she warns him.

“Don’t leave me,” he counters. 

“Needing some air isn’t leaving, Kylo.”

He’s silent for a long time, her hand still in his.

“Back to sleep?” she suggests.

He exhales, through his nose, as if deliberating his response. “Yeah,” he says, finally, and pulls her close enough to feel her heartbeat against his.

She is suddenly very, very aware that he isn’t wearing a shirt. Hers is rucked up above her navel, and in that space where their skin is touching she feels electric. His hands are on her, skimming up and down her sides, stopping _just_ short of the curve of her bottom, still decent but just barely.

It sends a small shiver through her when he traces lines along her neck with a forefinger. She does the same, bringing up a hand to curl at the curve where his shoulder meets his neck.

A small, half-strangled sound escapes him; Rey’s eyes go wide and she freezes, but he sits up, shifting her gently; Rey positions herself so she has a knee on either side of his waist, and when she looks up, he brings a hand to her cheek and _kisses_ her.

Suddenly, the reality of what Rey is doing – has been doing – crashes around her.

But she kisses him back anyway.

They spend the rest of the night exploring each other’s bodies like maps, slowly, tentatively. He palms her breast, draws the pad of his thumb over a nipple, and she gasps, nails digging into his back. When she bites his neck he presses her head down, urging her to bite harder.

“Like you mean it,” he says, and she leaves purple marks on him. She can feel proof of his arousal pressing into her thigh; she reaches down, cupping it in her hand, and he lets out a moan, biting his lip. She drags her palm over it again, biting his neck, and he groans into her hair. He tugs at the waistband of her pants, sliding a hand down beneath her underwear. He parts her folds and one long, slim finger runs up to her clit.

She positively shivers. She’s wet, knows he can feel it, hears him chuckling at her arousal, but she doesn’t care. She squirms out of her pants, kicking them off her ankles, and leans up to crash her mouth against his.

“Like you mean it,” she says, and from there her fate is sealed.

.

.

.

They do not speak of it, of the kisses and touches and moments between them; when she finds him again, there’s another tension in the air.

“I can’t sleep,” she says, and her voice is small, unsure.

He pauses, the words on his tongue.

“You won’t find sleep in my bed tonight,” he tells her, and to his disappointment she stops, sighs, and saunters away.

.

.

.

When she comes back not twenty  minutes later, he’s still giving her that predatory look, and she feels all but naked under his gaze. She cannot forget the feel of his body under hers, of his mouth, of his hands.

“I can’t sleep,” she repeats when he looks up at her. She tosses a practice saber to him; he catches it, and they spar.

.

.

.

It does nothing to relieve the sexual tension; if anything, sparring is amplifying it; he grins wickedly when their sabers clash, teases her when he retreats, feints right, left, thoroughly enjoying making her having to do increasingly elaborate forms to keep up with him.

Finally, he has her pinned, disarmed, and he leans in close and says, just above a whisper, “Got you.”

She fists her hand into his cloak and crashes her mouth to his, and it is all he can do to not let out a victorious yell when she kisses him back, when she doesn’t run, that she’s _come back to him,_ when she denies having left, when she all but agrees to not leave. He has not been able to forget the feel of her, her scent, her skin, her mouth.

It’s all he can do to carry her, legs wrapped around him, still kissing, onto his ship and into his bedroom.

They have unfinished business, the two of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your ~2000 words of smut. Hard M rating.

Rey doesn’t think about what she’s doing or who she’s doing it with; instead she concentrates on the satiated need, on the dispelled loneliness, on the _together, together, together_ pulsing between them. He carries her to his quarters, still kissing, and in the back of her mind Rey wonders how he managed that.

 _The Force, probably,_ she thinks, somewhere in the back of her mind.

His mouth his soft, his kisses sincere. He nips her bottom lip, and Rey feels a thrill go through her. She fists her hands in his hair and pulls, and he lets out a small noise.

He sits on his bed, and when he does he presses his lips to her neck. Rey’s sighs turn to whimpers as he sinks his teeth in and sucks, and almost unconsciously she grinds her hips against his.

Kylo lets out a moan, and Rey pushes him onto his back, bites his neck almost angrily. _Murderer. Monster. Mine._

He presses a hand on her head, urging her to bite harder, masochist that he is. Rey complies, determined to mark him. She goes down, reaches the point where his shirt meets his skin, and with a furious vigor she slips her hands underneath his shirt, urging it off.

He’s all too eager to comply. Beneath her, Rey can feel his erection and she swallows, wondering if she really wants to go down this path.

He must’ve sensed her hesitation. “We don’t have –“ he begins, but she cuts him off with a kiss. “Yes, we do,” she breathes, peppering kisses down his cheek, his neck, his collarbone.

“This isn’t how you fix things.” He parrots her words back at her. Rey can’t tell if he’s being cheeky or serious.  He props himself up on his elbows and looks at her, really _looks_ at her.  Rey feels small and hot under his gaze, and averts her eyes.

“I’m not trying to fix things,” she mutters.

“Then what are you trying to do?”

Rey opens her mouth, but finds that she comes short.

“I know what I want,” he says, and there’s no teasing, no lust, just gentle honesty in his voice. “Do you?”

And Rey hesitates. What does she want? To sleep with a monster? To assuage her loneliness? To take the broken things inside of her and show them to him, bare her soul, and hope he accepts it with open arms?

Not only would that be incredibly hypocritical of her, it’s _not how you fix things._ It would be cruel. He’s a monster, a murderer, a profoundly damaged man who’s seeking salvation through her.

“I’ve disbanded the First Order,” he says, reaching up to cup her cheek. His hand his massive, rough, warm against her skin. “I’ve killed Snoke. And Hux. There’s nothing for me there. I can’t go back to Leia. I can’t find redemption. But you…”

“What about me?” she asks, voice scarcely above a whisper.

.

.

.

Several answers come to his mind: _You’re home, you’re lovely, you’re mine,_ but he doesn’t say any of them. He fumbles for words, finally settling on, “You…are like me,” he breathes.

“I’m not.”

“You _are,”_ he insists. “You have a storm inside of you. You want this,” he catches her hand and pushes it against his chest, “As much as I do.”

“You’re starved for touch.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not nearly as depraved.”

“The marks on my neck would say otherwise.” There is no teasing lilt to his voice. She might not give in to her basest instincts, not like he does, but they’re there. “I know you crave my touch as much as I crave yours.”

“Get out of my head,” she mumbles, and that’s about as much of an admission as he’ll get.

“I was never in your head, Rey. Not this time. You know that.”

She sighs, and it’s a lovely sound. “I’m not your redemption, Kylo.”

“I know.” He kisses her, softly, and she responds in kind. She wraps her arms around him, hugging him, and he shivers at the touch of her hands on his bare back.

“Then what am I?” she asks, lips brushing against his.

“You’re _home,”_ he says, and she kisses him again. His arms are around her and he’s pressing her to him, kissing her with lips and teeth and tongue, all the while thinking _mine, mine, mine._

His hands are under her tunic, skimming the soft skin underneath.  He moves his mouth to her neck and she makes a small, mewling noise. He smirks, then, thinking that she may be on top of him, but he’s the one in control, making her squirm and gasp with pleasure.

He makes quick work of her tunic, of her chest bindings, and palms her small, _perfect_ breasts. He takes one into his mouth and she makes a high, keening noise and rolls her hips into his, and it feels so good it’s _obscene._

Her nails dig into his back and she bites his neck, _finally_ hard enough, and he hisses at the cocktail of pleasure and pain. He revels in it, panting, and then in one swift motion he moves so she’s underneath him. He helps her out of her pants, her underwear, and she’s lying there, perfect and naked beneath him.

.

.

.

His eyes rove over her naked form, and Rey _should_ be embarrassed, _should_ feel self-conscious, but she’s too busy in the throes of passion. She can feel something, hot and wet and needy, curl low in her belly as she’s there, underneath his gaze.

She watches as he licks his middle finger before parting her folds and slipping it inside of her. She gasps at the sensation, biting her lip and curling her fists into the bedsheets and positively _whimpers_ when he begins moving his finger inside of her, touching a spot she didn’t know she had.

He leans down and kisses her, _really_ kisses her, puts a hand on her breast, running the pad of his thumb over her nipple. She can’t help the pathetic, mewling sounds it elicits from her.

Still pumping inside of her, he puts his thumb on her clit and kisses her, and she screams into his mouth as she comes undone as the climax wracks her body. She lies there in a post-coital haze, panting, but not for long: even that was not enough to satiate her and has only left her wanting more.

She tugs at his pants, fumbling with the buckles. He helps her, removing them with long, quick fingers. His underwear follows, and Rey takes a moment to appraise the man before her.

His body is hard and lean; his shoulders are broad, his collarbones are tantalizing, and he is scarred. He is not a hairy man, only a small strip going from his navel to his groin. His hipbones jut out, sharp enough to cut, and Rey is overwhelmed with the desire to leave another purpling mark there.

So she does, suckling on his hipbone and taking his length into her hand. He gasps and she smiles against his hip, kissing him from his hip to just above his length. She knows she’ll remember the half-strangled sound he makes when she takes him into her mouth, knows she’ll never forget the sensation as he knots his massive hand into her hair, his gasp when she moves her tongue around the head.

Just when he is on the cusp of finishing – if his increasingly frantic breathing is anything to go by – she stops, lifts her head up and peppers kisses up his torso.

_“Tease.”_

Rey _hmm._ “Just making it last longer. Unless you want to stop…?” She takes the shell of his ear into her mouth, drags her teeth across and he hisses.

“Doesn’t make you any less of a tease,” he says, and pushes her onto her back. He moves her legs over his massive shoulders and looks up at her with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Let’s see how you like it.”

.

.

.

He’s not mad at her, not really, but the girl deserves _payback_ for that, for bringing right onto the pinnacle of climax and then pulling back. He breathes in the heady scent of her sex and, tantalizingly slowly, begins kissing the inside of her thigh. Testing the waters – he knows she requires a much more delicate touch than he does – he nips, taking some of the flesh into his teeth, and she makes a noise that he’s quickly learning means _good, yes, keep going and don’t stop._

He continues his administrations, parts her folds, and drags his tongue from her opening to her clit. She’s wet, wetter than before, and he feels a flash of pride. Slowly, carefully, he slides a finger into her, making sure to hit the spot that makes her scream, and he suckles on her clit.

She bucks her hips beneath him so violently that he almost falters. He puts his free arm across her torso, using his weight to hold her down.

“Stay still,” he whispers, pausing a moment, then continues.

She’s writhing, biting her lip, panting and just about screaming, and he can feel her getting closer, closer –

He abruptly stops, lifting his head and keeping a stilled finger inside of her.

“I – you – _Kylo -_ “ she pants, and he smirks, pride blooming inside of his chest at the sound of his name.

“Payback,” he says, and with one or two pumps of his finger, she comes completely undone beneath him.

.

.

.

Rey looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, waiting to regain control of her limbs – which have apparently turned to jelly in the wake of sex. He smirks down at her. “Good?” he practically purrs, leaning forward. “I’d say, given you can hardly move –“

With a half-growl, Rey is upon him. She forces Kylo Ren to his back takes his length into her hand, and angles herself on it. It hurts a bit, a sharp sensation, but he allows her to set the pace (he’s too busy groaning beneath her to care about something as silly as pace, right now.)

When she finds a comfortable angle, she rolls her hips, taking him all inside. He gasps, hands on her hips digging in, and urges her to do it again.

She’s all too happy to oblige.

.

.

.

It’s not very fast, but she’s _perfect_ and _tight_ and _hot;_ when the slowness becomes too much, he takes a hand and rubs it against her clit. She yelps, startled, not seeing her own pleasure coming when she was so focused on his.

He takes advantage of her lapse in concentration and guides her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand and rubbing at her clit with another.

He leans down and nips at her neck as he thrusts. _“Mine,_ ” he breathes into her ear, and feels her shudder.

His thrusts grow less and less controlled and he can feel himself come undone, can feel her on the cusp of climax as he rubs circles around her clit. _“Fuck,”_ he growls, when she whimpers in pleasure. _“Fuck me,”_ he moans, though that’s exactly what she’s doing.

She comes undone with a cry – whether she says _Ren_ or _Ben,_ it is irrelevant – and he follows seconds after, spilling inside of her.

They lay there, panting, and for the first time in years, Kylo Ren’s demons are silenced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, that was fun to write. 
> 
> I might expand on this - what do you guys think? I really like the idea of two broken people trying to calm the storms inside of them together...and I really like Kylo Ren and Rey ;)
> 
> NOTE: Pandemonium is done; I like this work ending here. But check my profile for more smutty Reylo one/two shots ;D Taking requests, so shoot me a message at "littlemanicmonday" on tumblr. 
> 
> Thank you for the kind words and support <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm garbage. Absolute, irredeemable, utter garbage for these two. 
> 
> You guys win - I'm writing more. 
> 
> Thank you all for your kind words <3

He doesn’t see her for nearly a month after that.

He tries not to think of how when he woke up that morning, she was gone.

In that time, Kylo’s holed himself up on this planet. He doesn’t know its name, just knows that he’s somewhere beyond the Outer Rim, knows that there’s _no Snoke, no family, no home._ Eventually, he makes a trip to a more inhabited planet, picks up the supplies he needs, and sets on building himself a house.

It’s basic: bedroom, ‘fresher, and a kitchen that he rigged together using spare parts from his ship. He used the Force to do most of the heavy lifting, bending the durasteel over the wooden skeleton he’s erected. It takes almost two days, but soon enough he has himself a house. He drags a futon into the place he’s designated as his bedroom and, on a whim, makes a shelf.

It looks like he’s going to have a lot of free time – he might as well pick up a hobby, and reading is as good as any.

He doesn’t sleep well.

The summer is hot, and the crickets are loud outside.

The third day he has his house built, he realizes that he’d forgotten to include windows.

This, he thinks, is a lovely excuse to take his saber to some choice parts, a practice in control and force.

That is how she finds him: sawing a hole into the side of his home with his lightsaber, then punching it until it gives, leaving an almost-exact rectangle in its wake.

He senses her presence while he’s in the middle of doing this, but only the tightening of his shoulders betrays him; methodically, he finishes his project, sheathes his saber, and turns to greet her.

She does not rush him with a saber, does not leap into his arms. Kylo Ren wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting of her.

The familiar tug he feels when he meets her eyes is a heavy, welcome weight in his chest, tinged with resentment. He is still hurt that she left. “You’ve made a house,” she says, looking almost impressed.

“I’ve taken to staying here.” He takes the block of durasteel and puts it aside, turning to the screen he’d measured. He’d need to install it if he didn’t want to get eaten alive by the insects. “It’s…nice.”

Rey makes a noncommittal noise. She waits in silence as he installs the screen, and he can feel his eyes on her.

It was then that he realized he’d been working with his shirt off – Rey could see his back, all of the scars from Snoke, and he winces. She’ll never show it, and he’ll never sense it from her, but he knows she pities him.

“I don’t,” she says, suddenly. “And you’re a damned fool for thinking it.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t ask her to get out of his head. Instead he shouldered on his discarded shirt, turned to her, and said, “How is your training progressing?”

It takes Rey off guard for a moment, but then a gleam ignited in her eye. She removes her saber from her hip and ignites it.

To his surprise, it isn’t Anakin’s saber, but one all her own: a quarterstaff, blue in color.

A corner of his mouth tugs up as he clicks his own saber to life. “A legendary Sith once had a double-bladed saber.”

They spar like their very lives depend on it. Midway through, shame forgotten, Kylo had rips his shirt over his shoulders. Rey does the same, stripping herself of her tunic and arm wrappings, facing him in just a bandeau around her chest.

Her naked skin did nothing to distract him: his focus narrowed, until it was just his saber, her saber, and the Force around them.

By the time they stop, the sun is almost entirely set.

They sit outside, passing a canteen of water back and forth. Kylo can feel her trepidation, her hesitance, buzzing at the back of his mind.

“Just ask,” he says, eventually. The stars have come out now, and Rey’s gaze is pointedly fixated on the sky.

“Leia is wondering about you,” she says at length.

“So she knows you see me.” It’s not a question, but he does his best to keep his tone far from accusatory.

“She’s Force-sensitive, you know. She knew when Snoke died.”

Kylo Ren tenses then; Rey senses his unease, and moves on. “If you have any message for her, I can relay it. That is all.”

He mulls it over, but does not answer. He knew that Rey isn’t expecting one.

Sometime, in their silence, she falls asleep. Kylo Ren regards her, really looks at Rey for the first time.

She’s whipcord-lean, with a small but sturdy frame. Her nose and mouth are delicate, the curve of her jaw smooth. He knows that her skin is soft, but her hands are calloused. Her face is freckled from the sun, and her hair looks best when it’s left loose, tumbling around her shoulders.

She’s attractive, in an understated way, and Kylo Ren is enamored, perhaps even more so now than when she was naked beneath him.

He wonders if he should wake her, but ultimately decides against it.

Instead, he sets one arm beneath her knees and another under her shoulders, heaves her up, and sets her on the far side of his bed.

He bathes himself, and, after much deliberating, kept a shirt on while he slept next to her. He kept a respectable space between them, much as he wanted more, and fell asleep to the sound of her breathing.

.

.

.

_His mouth is hot and wet against her skin, his body a wanted weight on top of her. She rakes her nails down his back, mindful of his scars, and bucks into him._

_The noise he makes floors her, and then she’s simultaneous slipping a finger onto her clit, aiding in her pleasure, and sinking her teeth into his neck – masochist that he is, Kylo Ren loves neck-biting – and, she thinks, even though she is beneath him, she is in control._

_That control does not last for long: Kylo Ren pulls out of her long before either of them are finished and pins her wrists above her head. “Hands to yourself.”_

_He draws his hand down her body, over her breasts, down her belly and between her thighs._

_“Fuck,” Rey pants. “Just_ make me come already, _dammit!”_

_Kylo Ren grins wickedly and slips a long, slender finger inside of her, all too happy to oblige._

.

.

.

When Rey wakes up, there is a warm, snoring mass next to her. _Kylo._

He is on his back, and she is curled into his side, her face right in his armpit. It is inelegant, but thankfully it does not smell of sweat.

Unfortunately, she positively reeks.

She looks around. Kylo Ren’s bedroom is largely bare, dominated by the large bed pushed against the wall and into a corner. There is no mirror, no dresser; his clothes are kept folded on a shelf. There is a curtain less window, _and_ the light streaming in tells her it is late morning.

She stretches, yawns, and cracks her back. She does not know how she feels about waking up in his bed – truthfully, she does not know how she feels about _him_ – but she can leave now, shower be damned, and return back to Leia and Luke and Finn and Poe, and _not_ spend her free time with a – with a –

She looks at him.  _What are you, without Snoke?_

To that, she has no answer.

During her contemplating, he wakes up, slowly. He heaves a sigh and shifts, only truly opening his eyes when he bumps into her.

Upon meeting his eyes, the dream comes back to her, and she _knows_ that he’d had the very same dream.

Rey swallows against the lump in her throat, and he grins up at her, propping himself up on an elbow and lounging, presenting his long, lean body to her.

“Morning,” he says, then: “You reek.”

“You’re the one who brought me here,” Rey told him.

His gaze was dark and lingering. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

Rey bites her lip and does not respond.

“’Fresher’s that way,” he says, not taking his gaze off her. “You can shower, if you want.”

Rey’s mouth is suddenly dry. She knows he can feel her arousal, just as she can feel his; he does not bother keeping her out of his head.

“What do _you_ want?” she says, suddenly.

.

.

.

Kylo Ren is not at all taken by surprise; she’d experienced the dream as much as he had, and in her freshly-wakened state was doing nothing to hide her thoughts from him.

He can’t help but smirk at her question. It is perhaps the first time in a decade that he’s been asked that, truly been given a choice.

Out loud, he says, “What do you mean?”

In his mind, he projects several lewd images, most of them involving the ‘fresher, all of them involving her naked.

She blushes, but recovers. “I _meant,_ ” she says, “From this. From living on this planet. From – from me.”

“I told you that,” he said, voice low. “A long time ago.”

And finally, he lets her feel it: the pain at her leaving. He knows, somewhere inside of him, that she does not owe him this, that he is a monster, that he is so far beneath her it is laughable she would even speak to him.

But still, he bares himself to her.

“I had to,” she says. He can feel a flash of guilt, but she holds firm. “I was – called. There was trouble.”

“And you couldn’t at least _tell me?”_

Rey opens her mouth, then closes it. “That…hadn’t occurred to me.”

He sighed, half in relief (that it wasn’t malice) and half in frustration (that communication was not their strong suit.)

He ran a hand through his hair; after a while, he said, quietly, “What do you want, Rey?”

She looks at him, really _looks_ at him, and says, “I want to take a shower.”

He nods; that is understandable.

“And I want you to join me.”

He was all too happy to oblige.

.

.

.

Rey was surprised by her own boldness, but did not regret her decision. She followed him to the ‘fresher, let him set the faucet so it would be hot enough, waited for the steam to build before she began stripping.

Kylo Ren had seen her naked, before, but somehow this felt different: more deliberate, less desperate, and in _daylight._

When he turned around, she was naked, and it took him a moment to register. Rey laughed at his look, and tugged at his own shirt. “Don’t tell me you bathe with your clothes _on?”_ she teased.

She knew they had much to talk about, knew that it wasn’t all light-hearted, but for now…

For now, this was okay.

He rolled his eyes and stripped as Rey hopped under the stream of water. The water pressure was to _die_ for, and the soap smelt like sandalwood and pine. The shampoo was high-quality, and Rey could feel the dirt and grime wash away.

“Did I _say_ you could use my shampoo?” he groused, stepping in with her.

Rey snorted. “You were the one who said I reeked.”

“Well, you did,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “Now you smell like me.” His teeth nipped right at the curve of her neck and Rey, unsuspecting, gasped.

He stood behind her, bending down to kiss her neck. With one arm, he pinned her to him at her waist; with the other, he traced down her shoulder, drawing his fingers across her arm, then intertwining his hand with hers.

She could feel his erection pressing into the swell of her ass, could feel his hard body, slick with water, against her back. When the hand that was at her hip travelled south, brushing between her legs, Rey sighed. He pressed his fingertip to her clit, bit at her neck, teasing her and bringing her right to the level of arousal where –

Rey knew he’d been anticipating this by the smirk, but she didn’t care. She turned around and had him pinned against the shower wall, grinding into him and kissing him, tongue against his, drawing her teeth over her lower lip.

.

.

.

She is _tantalizing, delicious, wonderful –_

His hands skim her soap-slick sides, find her ass, squeeze. He groans as she grinds against him, digs his fingers into the swell of her ass as she pulls away from the kiss, teeth scraping against his lower lip. Her face is flush, whether from the heat of the shower or arousal, he can’t tell.

“I think,” he pants, “That that’s enough _bathing._ ”

With that as his explanation, he picks her up, soaking wet, and deposits her on the countertop. He leaves the shower on – the heat will be good, he thinks – and kneels before her, kissing at her inner thighs. He looks up at her and her eyes are hazy, her lip swollen. She meets his eyes and fits her hand into his wet hair, urging him forward.

“Patience,” he says, kissing his way up.

He parts her folds with his tongue and she lets out a hiss of pleasure. He continues in long, sure strokes, being sure to just _almost_ reach her clit before going back down.

 _“Tease,”_ she accuses, and he chuckles, low in the back of his throat. He loves having her like this, feisty and aroused but not satiated.

“And?” He asks, before he flicks his tongue over her clit.

She gasps, and that’s all he needs: he doesn’t hold back now, holding her in place with his hands, breathing in the heady scent of her sex, suckling on her clit, flicking his tongue at her entrance.

He stays there until she’s come, then until his knees begin to hurt from kneeling. As soon as he’s standing she’s wrapping her arms and legs around him and kissing him, stroking his length, biting and kissing and sucking on his neck.

At this rate, he thinks, they’re going to need another shower.

He slips a finger into her sex and she’s keening into him, gripping him harder. He pumps his finger and she’s gasping. He puts his mouth on one of her breasts, dragging his teeth across her nipple ever-so-slightly, and she’s mewling, clawing at his back and bucking into him.

 _“Fuck,”_ she breathes, when he kisses her neck.

He nearly comes on the spot.

He kisses her through her climax and she screams into his mouth. She’s shaking, he can feel it, and brings him no small feeling of pride. 

She’s stroking him, less vigorously than before, and when she kisses him she’s guiding him into her. The countertop, he realizes, is at the perfect height for fucking: he doesn’t have to bend at any odd angle, can just stand and hold her as she sits back.

 _Perfect,_ he thinks, and slides into her with ease. She gasps, whether in pleasure or pain he can’t tell, and he’s gentle as he slides in and out of her.

That is, at first.

Then she rolls her hips against him and bites his neck and sucks on his earlobe and presses her fingertips into his hipbones, and he’s thrusting into her like it’s the last thing he’ll do. She goes to put a finger to her clit, but he guides her hands away. “My job,” he says, and rubs a finger against her.

She gasps and groans and bites his collarbone and shifts, and the angle is _perfect_ and _tight_ and _hot,_ and he comes seconds after she does, mostly because she’s moaned _“fuck me”_ as she finished.

He holds her, for her support as much as his own, breathing into her neck and peppering kisses there. She runs a hand down his back, mindful of his scars.

Kylo Ren’s not sure how long they stay there, but eventually, she breaks the silence.

“I think we need another shower.”

He smiles into her shoulder, hands at her waist. “Yeah. We do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, so I'm not sure if I still have these two down right for this fic - I'm really hoping I didn't mess it up by continuing it. There'll be more to this fic, but know that the first two chapters are the "official" Pandemonium. Everything else is extra, and I'll be sure to make every chapter end nicely. 
> 
> That being said, I've got another one planned out that I'm excited to share with you. 
> 
> I've never written a shower sex scene, mostly because I'm not a shower-sex person myself (the logistics haven't worked for me.) That being said, thoughts on it?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your wonderful support of this fic, and thank you all for enabling my trash obsession <3
> 
> I'll be posting these as I go and updating the tags accordingly. 
> 
> But for now, enjoy~

After, they’re lying in his bed. Kylo is laying on his stomach, facing Rey; she is on her side, tracing lines on his back. He should be relaxed – Rey can feel his tension, and she knows, that he can’t help but be self-conscious: Snoke’s marks, even years later, show.

“Relax,” she murmurs. When he doesn’t, she says, “Do you really think I’m paying attention to your scars when you’re positively _shredded?_ ”

It was a precarious joke, a gamble on humor, but it wins him over. He laughs, and Rey is startled by the sound; in that moment, he leans up and kisses her softly.

“Thank you,” he says, and he lays back down. Rey resumes running her fingers along the planes of his back, down the dip in his spine, along his neck. He _is_ marked: most of them are long-faded, white marks; others are thick with scar tissue, puckered and warped.

They do nothing to distract from his musculature. His height belies this, makes him look thin and lanky, but he is corded with muscle. His shoulders are broad, his forearms vascular; even his ass is firm.

She presses a kiss to the top of one of the deeper scars, right at the base of his neck; she traces it down, across his back, to where it stop, midway near his ribs. He shivers at the touch and she smiles, planting another kiss at the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Suddenly, an idea crosses her mind. Before she can think rationally she straddles his back and smooths her hands across his shoulders. He doesn’t question it, probably sensed her intentions before she’d even moved.

She kisses the center of his neck again, letting her breath ghost across the wetness her kiss left, and begins kneading the muscles of his shoulder with her hands. He’s knotted, tense; she works slowly, occasionally kissing his back or drawing her tongue down his spine.

He groans when she being working on a knot just beneath his scapula; he hisses when she presses down, hard with her thumb, and he almost whimpers when she bends down and sinks her teeth into his neck.

She works her way down, further, and he groans again when she reaches his lower back.

“You can,” he says, voice half muffled by the pillow, “go harder.”

It’s a suggestion as much as it’s a request. Rey smiles to herself and complies, at one point using her elbow. He sighs, at that, and Rey runs her hands back up and down for good measure when she’s done.

She leans up so she can whisper in his ear. “See?” she says. “Relaxing is _good.”_

With a groan, rolls over beneath her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her down onto his chest. “Quiet, you,” he mumbles, tucking his chin atop her head. “I’ll get my revenge soon.”

Rey chuckles to herself but complies, relaxing into his chest as his arm becomes a dead, sleeping weight across her waist. She closes her eyes, and falls asleep to the sound of his breathing.

.

.

.

Kylo Ren wakes up from what was probably the best nap of his life, ass-naked and clutching an equally ass-naked Rey to him. He hugs her tighter, her back to his chest and her butt pressed into his groin. He draws circles around her hipbone with his hand, presses a chaste kiss to the top of her head. Through their connection, he can feel arousal pooling in her, gets flashes of the dream she’s having – and suddenly, wickedly, gets a _wonderful_ idea.

Something that she – quite literally – will never see coming.

He moves, careful not to wake her, and brings a hand up, cupping her breast. He angles his head so he can press kisses to her neck, running the pad of his thumb over her nipple.

She wakes with a heavy breath. “I – what – _Kylo…_ ”

“Mmm, yes?” he asks, continuing his administrations, pulse quickening at the breathy sound of his name.

“What – are you –“ she’s practically panting now, and he’s hardly even started _. Good._ “- doing?”

“Should I stop?” he asks. It hadn’t even occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t okay, that maybe she wouldn’t want this but –

“ _No,”_ she says, emphatically.

“Okay,” he practically purrs, and begins kissing her neck in earnest. The hand that’s wrapped underneath her still at her breast; with his other hand, he draws his fingers down her side, over her ribs, stopping just past her hipbone, fingertips grazing the insides of her thigh.

Tantalizingly slow, he works his way between her; she’s made it easy, already parting her legs in anticipation. She grinds her ass into his cock and he hisses against her neck. When she does it again, he complies, working his finger into her and moving it back and forth. He’s still going slow, deliberately teasing her, but how can he not, with the way she writhes against him?

He speeds up his pace and she gasps, digging her fists into his sheets, biting her lip –

And then she’s making that delicious noise, coming, _hard,_ and then she’s gasping breathing heavily next to him, limbs gone to jelly. Kylo Ren extracts his finger, returns it to her hip, feels her go limp into his embrace.  He’s hard, unbelievably turned on, but he can wait.

“That’s…certainly one way to wake up,” she remarks, turning to face him.

He smirks at her, kisses her forehead. “It is,” he agreed.

“I’ll have to return the favor, one day,” she continues, “But for now…”

And then her hand is around him, stroking his length, and she’s drawing his lower lip into her mouth and drawing her teeth across it, moving her tongue across his. When she breaks the kiss she turns to his neck, mindful of the bruises already there, and she nips right beneath his ear…

Without a warning, he shifts her so she’s on top of him. “Kneel up,” he says. “I want to try something.”

She looks confused, but complies, and as soon as her weight is off of him he scoots down on the bed until his head is between her legs, breathing in the smell of her. Rey’d caught on, lowering herself slightly, and he wraps his hand around her thigh and pushes her down, so she’s effectively sitting on his face.

When his tongue meets her clit she lets out a small, almost surprised noise. She tugs at his hair, panting, and he wraps his fist around his cock, determined to make himself come while making her come as well. This was a fantasy of his, he was finally in a position to live it out, to hear Rey’s whimpers of pleasure, to smell her sex, to be the one to take her to climax.

And he does, his administrations eliciting perfect noises of ecstasy from her; when he feels himself getting close, he turns his attention to her clit, flicking his tongue over it once, twice, before suckling on it, delighting in a gasp that turns into a scream of pleasure….

His own release comes seconds after hers. He releases his cock, guides Rey so she doesn’t try to lay on him. He’s spilled himself all over his stomach, and he’s got half a mind to clean it off.

Rey watches him use the discarded towel to clean himself, and says, “I’d have taken care of you, you know.”

“Next time,” he promises. Screw it – he’s covered in spit and semen, he needs another shower.

He tells Rey this, but she’s already drifting off, exhausted by her own orgasms.

He looks upon her sleeping form and smiles. He’ll let her sleep.

In the back of his mind, he wonders how long this peace will last.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some headcannons about Kylo Ren and Rey:  
> 1\. They are (were?) both total virgins.  
> 2\. Kylo Ren is, despite his inexperience, very good at oral. (Rey is very grateful for this.)  
> 3\. Kylo Ren is self-conscious about his scars.  
> 4\. Rey doesn't know the meaning of the term "self-conscious."  
> 5\. Kylo Ren has an eight-pack. Kylo Ren is shredded.  
> 6\. Kylo's a teeny bit of a masochist and much prefers having his neck bitten to having it being kissed. As such, Rey leaves some pretty gnarly hickies that she's secretly proud of.  
> 7\. Both of them are touch-starved and extremely cuddly. Rey prefers to be big spoon.  
> 8\. Playing with Rey's hair is the way to her heart.


	5. Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." - Paradise Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty Kylo-centric - we begin to see who he's trying to become without Snoke.

When she leaves – and it’s all Kylo Ren can do to beg her not to go, to get down on his knees, to kiss her collarbone and plead with her to stay.

But he doesn’t, instead he sees her off. He’s walking her out of his house when he notices that she’s wearing clean clothes – _his_ clothes – and he says, “You left your clothes. I’ll grab them for you.”

 “I’ll need spare clothes, when I visit again,” she says, and his heart nearly skips a beat. Her eyes flicker up to him, then back down at her shoes. “Leave them.”

And Kylo wants to sweep her into his arms, spin around, kiss her. He doesn’t know what the feeling bubbling inside of him is, doesn’t dare spoil it by trying to name it, but he knows that a grin is splitting his face. “Okay,” he says, unable to come up with a witty retort.

“You’ll have to wash them, of course, I’m sure they reek – “

He’s still grinning. _When,_ she’d said _when._ Not if. “I’ll manage.”

He walks her to her ship, in the morning light, and she turns to him before she boards. “I – General Organa gave me this. For you.”

She holds out an envelope. “Only if you want,” she says.

Kylo is surprised to find himself taking it. They’re hands touch as the envelope transfers hands, and Kylo bends down to kiss her goodbye.

“Til next time,” he says, quietly against her mouth.

“I’ll see you, Kylo,” she says, and something catches in his throat.

He watches as she leaves, stays there for a while. He looks at the envelope in his hand.

It stays unsealed, unopened, for days. Kylo Ren does not have the courage to open it.

.

.

.

The letter from General Organa, from Leia, from his _mother,_ haunts him.

He has to stop reading it every other sentence, take a break, clear his mind. There’s too much of that, too much _remembering._

_No father. No father. No father._

She calls him _Ben_ and talks about _Snoke_ and _exile_ and _Rey,_ she mentions Rey; she calls him a _war criminal_ but says that _the First Order was a disease that took care of itself_ and in her roundabout way, almost thanks him for disbanding it.

There is also a not-so-subtle warning, telling him not to show his face, telling him that there is a galaxy-wide warrant for his arrest.

She requests a meeting, asks him how he’s doing, says that she’s still his mother, and Kylo Ren loses it.

For the first time in fifteen years, he cries. The sobs overtake him, the tears are hot on his cheeks, and he feels like his chest is going to burst with the feel of it. He slumps over his table and bawls, and his throat his raw and he has a headache but he still is not done.

.

.

.

The letter haunts him. It sits on his shelf, the one that he’s come to know as _his;_ the other is Rey’s, and he keeps the clothes that she left on them. He knows his mother plans on coming within the month, does not know when, and the anticipation is eating at him.

He flies off world to gather supplies. He knows where he will and will not be recognized, and is grateful for the decade in a mask. He gathers food, rations, a canvas and paints and brushes.

He likes working with his hands, likes slipping into the place where his mind narrows to the task at hand – flying, painting, and sparring are the few respites from his mind.  

There are only so many forms or kata you can go over before you become bored.

And that is how Kylo Ren divides his days: forms, painting, and improving on his meager house. Sometimes he’ll explore the planet, venture outside of the perimeter he’s familiar with. So far he hasn’t run into any sentient life. There is a creek with drinkable water a half-mile from his house.

The mountain calls to him. There is an energy there, massive and old, so, so old. He does not have the courage to brave it, but he meditates, allows the energy thrumming off the mountain to soothe him, to be a balm for his wounds.

The summer is coming to a peak; it will be fall soon. It’s been twenty-four days since he’s seen Rey, and he wonders, idly, if this neurotic time-keeping is what she did on Jakku. They do not communicate, do not use the Force that way, but she is there in the back of his mind. She is a faint presence, one that comforts him.

He tries painting – he does not know if he is good, does not care, but he enjoys swirling the colors around, attempting to make meaning of vague shapes. He thinks about painting Rey, wonders if he’ll ever be able to do the way the sunlight kisses her cheeks justice.

On the thirtieth day, he senses Rey’s Force signature on the planet.

So is his mother’s.

In the letter, she had explained that she had a duty, as a mother, to visit him, how Rey was simply cooperating by taking her, that this was off-record and not for business, that he’d been declared dead. Kylo Ren knew it was only a matter of time before someone found out about Rey, before something disrupted his peace.

He knew that this was coming, but nothing could have prepared himself for it.

General Organa is accompanied by Rey. He meets them outside of his house and raises a hand in greeting. Rey waves. The General does not.

“Ben,” she says, when they are within earshot.

And he hesitates – _General_ is too formal and _mother_ is too casual, so he settles on, “Hello, Leia.”

Rey must’ve slipped away, because she is nowhere to be found. Kylo Ren is left floundering, unsure of what to say to the woman before him.

“Are you here to kill me?” is what he asks, before he can stop himself. It is a humid day, and sweat has gathered on his brow.

“I should,” Leia responds. “Certainly there are people who want me to.”

He didn’t expect anything less.

“But no.” Her eyes – _his eyes,_ he realizes – are on him. “I am not here as a general. I’m here as your mother.”

He lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding. “I see.”

Her eyes travel over him, to the house behind him. “So you’ve made yourself a place?”

“I live here, yes.” An idea strikes him. “Would you like to see?”

And he shows her his home. She takes in the small kitchen with the big window, the half-finished painting, the bedroom, the ‘fresher, the spare room that he’s shoved an extra cot and a small library into. Books were hard to come by, were considered ancient, and Kylo prides himself on his collection (even if it’s mostly outdated material.) There is a small assortment of shiny rocks, mostly quartz.

Leia looks at this, and smiles. “You were always collecting odd things.”

It feels weird, talking to his mother. “How are things?” he asks.

Leia is running her fingers over the backs of the books. “Better,” she says, after a moment’s deliberation. “The First Order is gone. Luke and Rey are training new Jedi. The Senate is undoing the damage that Snoke caused.”

Kylo tenses at the mention of Snoke; Leia picks up on it. She turns to him, and says, “I’m sorry, Ben.”

He swallows. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize.”

Leia shakes her head. “I knew about Snoke. If I’d have…”

“Snoke would have found me either way,” he says. “Snoke always gets what he wants.”

There is something in his mother’s eyes that break at that; Kylo can’t figure out what.

He offers her tea; she accepts, and when he lifts his arm to reach for the mugs he has on the high shelf, he hears his mother let out a gasp.

His shirt was sleeveless with a racerback cut, and when he turned to prepare the tea, his mother caught sight of the angry marks on his back.

_Shit._

“Ben…” she says, and Kylo Ren remains still, because he’s heard that break in her voice and he knows, he _knows_ that there are tears in her eyes. “What _happened_ to you?”

He wants to let out a laugh at that. What happened to _him?_ What happened to everyone else, to all the people he’s met? To Han, to the Hosnian system, to FN-2187? To countless others that he’d slaughtered?

“Nothing,” he says, at length. “Nothing happened to me.”

.

.

.

Rey is worried.

She didn’t have a choice in whether or not the General – now Senator – was going to come. Leia was adamant about seeing her son, now that the war was over. And who was Rey to stand in her way?

Rey is a bit away, out of earshot, and meditating to calm her nerves. She does not pry into Kylo’s mind, does not try to sense anything from either mother or son.

Hours pass. Rey has taken to walking up the creek. The flow of the water calms her. It gets wider downstream, and, she suspects, deep enough to come up to her neck. The water is clear, and she can spot fish and frogs and even some aquatic birds.

She knows when they are done, and turns around to meet Leia. She escorts the senator back to her ship – the two had flown in separately – and Leia says to her, “He spoke of Snoke in the present tense. _Snoke always gets what he wants._ ”

“But Snoke is dead – we saw it. He can’t possibly…”

Leia looks up at Rey with tired, sad eyes. “He is still healing. The marks that were left on him are not just physical.”

Rey swallows. “And what will you do? Legally?”

Leia heaves a great sigh. “Officially he will be declared dead. Unofficially he is on exile in this system. Only you and I know of its location.”

“And what of Luke?”

Leia shakes her head. “My brother is also healing. I will tell him if he is ever ready.”

It is then that Rey really appreciates how strong Leia Organa is. “I understand, Senator.”

“You may continue to visit him,” Leia says. She smiles at Rey. “You bring out the light in him, I think.”

Rey nods, unsure how to respond. Leia continues, “As a General, as a Senator, I’m beside myself. I should sanction his death and make it a public spectacle. But as his mother...I’m just a guilty, Rey. I let him become this.”

Rey shakes her head. “Snoke turned him into this. It’s not – we can’t place blame now, not after everything. The First Order was a snake that ate itself. He’s all that’s left of it.” She reaches out and hugs Leia. “You can – you can write. I’ll deliver the letters.”

Leia heaves a sigh. “I would like that, Rey.”

Rey smiles at her and watches her leave. It is bittersweet, but she thinks that Leia needed this as much as Kylo did.

She turns to his house. Kylo Ren is watching her from the doorway, a stern, sturdy figure in the distance. She cannot feel discomfort, or sadness, or regret from him.

She does not know if this is a good thing.

.

.

.

Rey walks towards him as his mother leaves, saber at her belt and hair pulled up off her neck in the heat.

“Should I go?” she asks, and he shakes his head. He’d sleep better with Rey in his bed tonight.  

She does not ask about the letter, about his mother, and he is grateful.

She follows him, and he all but falls into bed, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sometime that night, he is woken by Rey’s squirming. She’s wrestling with her arm-wraps, trying to get them off. Her tunic is on the floor.  “It’s too hot,” she mumbles as an explanation. “And you’re too _warm._ ”

Wordlessly, he sits up and helps her strip, and does the same – she is right, it’s warm and muggy out, even in the night. It is not sexual in the slightest, entirely mundane, and Kylo thinks that maybe this is something he could get used to.

She lays back down next to him, skin against skin, and Kylo drapes an arm around her. They do not wake up until well into the morning.

.

.

.

When Kylo Ren wakes up, it is to the sound of Rey’s steady breathing.

He lies there and wonders what could have been without Snoke. It is not a thought he allowed himself to have in the past, but now – now Snoke is dead and he is free and _what if_ he hadn’t been tainted, abused, what if this was his house and Rey was his – his what? What would she be?

For the second time in a week, tears prick his eyes as he thinks of a future that is lost to him now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome with your support of this <3
> 
> This is my little Mother's Day homage. I hope you enjoyed it :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this is it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and support; I wouldn't have made it this far without you. 
> 
> I hope this doesn't disappoint :)

Rey stays. She doesn’t bring up Leia, doesn’t ask. He’ll talk when he wants to.

She wakes up next to him. She’s still not used to it, sharing a bed, but it’s nice, and warm, and despite everything, it makes Rey feel safe. It’s _wonderful._

Except, you know, when she wakes up with her arm pinned beneath her and the weight of a two-hundred-something pound man pressing against her.

This she did _not_ sign up for.

Her back aches, and her arm is beyond numb. She tries to wiggle out from underneath him, but this wakes him up.

He makes a small, soft noise; Rey feels a flash of guilt as she shifts out and away, turning onto her side to face him. Kylo, still groggy, presents her with his back and scoots closer to her, reaching behind him to drape her arm across his waist.

Rey smiles. This is a feeling she dares not name, but it’s bubbling up inside of her, threatening to spill over. She wraps her arm around him, tighter, and plants a small kiss on his shoulder.

His breathing evens out again, and he’s fallen back asleep.

Rey is wide awake; she slips away, careful not to wake him, and figures she’ll go for a walk.

She has a lot of mulling over to do.

Leia had been kind to her, and more than understanding of Rey’s relationship with her son. But there was the underlying threat – if he showed hide or hair of himself, he’d be killed on sight.

Nobody at the base, save Leia, knew where Rey went when she left. Rey was grateful for the privacy.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that the Senator was using her to try and keep whatever remained of Ben Solo. Rey couldn’t blame Leia, she supposed, but it was nonetheless a tall order.

A _very_ tall order.

She stays outside until the sun is high in the sky, and only returns when she feels Kylo rouse himself from sleep.

.

.

.

When Kylo Ren wakes up to an empty bed and house, he is equal parts angry and panicked. Rey’s clothes are still there, her things are untouched, but he feels implicitly betrayed. He knows it’s irrational and he has no right to, but he _does._

He pushes it aside and bathes.

When she returns, several feelings coalesce and fight for dominance until he’s striding across the threshold, leaning down and kissing her _everywhere._ She squeals in delight, and it is then Kylo knows that affection was the right approach. He _much_ prefers this – drinking in her feelings, her _delight,_ feeling it resonate inside of him.

There will be time to be angry later. Now…

He sweeps her into his arms, slinging her rather ungracefully over his shoulder. “Kylo!” she shrieks, and gives his ass a firm slap. “Put me down!”

He sniggers. “Consider this payback.”

“For _what!?”_

He shifts her weight. “For making me wake up _alone.”_

Rey smacks his ass again, tells him, “You’re _unbelievable.”_

He deposits her unceremoniously on the bed, is upon her in an instant. “You love me,” he says, lips brushing against hers. The words are out before he can take them back, and there it is, a half-confession whispered between them.

Rey catches his lips in hers. “So what if I do, hm?” she murmurs, and the playful air is gone, replaced by something much more serious.

Kylo feels his breath catch in his throat. He chuffs, and says, “Then I am very lucky.”

He kisses Rey, half because he’s overwhelmed and half to buy himself time and half because he doesn’t know what to say. She responds in kind, opening her mouth beneath his, sweeping her tongue across his.

He’s so full of pure, unbridled _joy_ that he could burst. She is, too, and she’s clutching him to her, her chest flush with his, and in that moment, Kylo Ren knows he’d _kill_ anyone who dared to take this away from him.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, because he’s too much of a coward to say it.  He holds her to him. She’s straddling him, knees on either side of his waist, and _really,_ it’s shameful how easily he’s aroused by this. He’s _thirty,_ not fifteen.

He must’ve been projecting that thought because Rey giggles as she grinds into him, peppering kisses along his jawline and neck.

“Tease,” he accuses, but there’s no real irritation behind it.

“You love it,” Rey retorts, teeth scraping against the flesh near his jugular.

“Love _you,”_ he groans, shifting so now _he’s_ kissing _her._ He kisses her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, her cheek, her nose, her lips.

“Do you?” the words are breathed out, scarcely even a whisper. She’s looking at him, eyes deep and worried and _hopeful._ And that’s what Rey’s always had that he hasn’t _– hope._

It’s a language he’s beginning to learn.

He has a hand on her face. Her hand comes up to cover it, lip drawn between her teeth. Kylo Ren swallows, whispers a fervent _“yes.”_

“So fucking much, Rey,” he promises, and then she’s kissing him with renewed vigor, hands worming underneath his shirt, roving over his chest, nails scraping along his pectorals ever-so-slightly. He removes the shirt, and helps Rey takes her off for good measure, and skin-on-skin is still not close enough. There is something in him that is unbearably full and unfathomably hungry, and he thinks he’s going to be torn apart from it all.

He laves at her breasts with his mouth, dragging his teeth ever-so-lightly across her nipple; she keens, nails digging into his back, and Kylo feels a thrum of pleasure go through him. He swears he could get off just pleasuring Rey alone – the sounds she makes, the feel of her skin under his hands, is absolutely _exquisite._

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, drawing a finger between her breasts, down her belly, past her navel, hooking it below the waistband of her pants. She blushes, whimpers when he dips a tentative finger between her folds.

She’s positively _soaked._

 _“Fuck,”_ he hisses, circling a finger around her clit. She gasps, hips bucking underneath him.

He can’t get her pants off fast enough.

Gods, she’s beautiful.

He removes his belt, slips off his pants. He’s hard, he’s _so fucking hard,_ but right now all he can think of it making her squirm and scream and pant.

“Fuck, Kylo,” Rey says, sensing his intentions. “If that’s what you want, _do it already.”_

He’s upon her in an instant, mouth on her breasts, finger stroking between her folds before finally, _finally_ slipping inside of her. He kisses her neck with intent to bruise, drawing the sensitive flesh between his teeth and sucking, marking her – Rey is _his._

He could be hers, if she would have him.

She comes almost violently and he kisses her through her climax. After she lies there, breath heavy; Kylo can _feel_ how heavy her limbs are, how her brain is fuzzy, how _content_ she is because of him. He gathers her into his arms and kisses the back of her neck, her shoulder, her ear.

“Just,” she mumbles, “give me a minute.”

He chuckles, deep in his throat. “For you, I’ll give two.”

He can _feel_ her roll her eyes, but he doesn’t care. The sheer _affection_ he’s feeling is overwhelming – so much so that he doesn’t know how to _begin_ to express it.

“I know,” she tells him, so quietly he almost doesn’t catch it. She reaches up across the pillow and squeezes his hand. He squeezes back.

They spend the better part of the day in his bed, going from sex to cuddling then back to sex. Eventually, Kylo passes out, Ren in his arms.

He cannot think of a better way to fall asleep.

.

.

.

Rey divides her time between training new padawans with Luke, helping Leia with diplomacy issues regarding the nearest systems and the Restored Republic, and with Kylo Ren.

Every time she leaves, she feels a pang of guilt; it is torture that she cannot bring him with her, but she also knows that this is, in a way, his penance.

Luke still does not know; Rey figures it is for the best.

Every time she leaves, he sends her off with a handwritten letter for Leia and guilt weighing on her conscious. Every time she returns, this is a letter for him. Rey is curious – she is beyond curious – but she knows Kylo will talk about his mother when he is ready.

The next time she shows up on his planet, autumn is in full swing. It is mild, but the leaves are changing color on the trees, in beautiful warm hues.

Rey is unsurprised to find him outside, canvas atop an easel, and painting the scene before him.

She simply waits, observing him. She likes watching him – he reminds of her a feral cat, erratic yet deliberate, cunning and careful, ferocious but loyal.

He sets his paints down, leaves the easel outside to dry. When he turns to her, he breaks out into a grin and opens his arms.

Rey is all too eager to fall into them.

Later that night, naked as sin and entwined together, Rey is woken up by a scream.

It is Kylo, wrenching himself from a nightmare. His face looks pallid, his eyes wide. Rey is sitting, hand on his chest, and he looks at her like she’s an oasis in a desert. He rests his head in the crook of her neck, hands clutching her by her biceps. His breathing is heavy; Rey does her best to steady her breaths, to stroke his back, to whisper calming words. She is familiar with nightmares, but she’s never seen Kylo Ren so visibly shaken by his dreams.

A cursory glance out the window tells her it’s still in the dead of night; dawn is not for another three hours, at least. Not that she has anywhere to be, Rey muses.

She reaches out with the Force and curls it against his psyche. He recoils, at first, but Rey does not pry. She wraps herself around him like a blanket and lets him draw comfort from her presence. She wonders what brought this on, but she knows better than to ask.

“Stay,” he says, head still resting on her shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rey reminds him, though she knows that’s not what he meant. It’s been a long time coming, this conversation – she’s wracked by guilt every time she leaves, and he’s too conscientious of his place, of his _sins,_ that he doesn’t ask.

“But you will.” He looks up, and his eyes are dark and heavy. “You always leave.”

Rey stamps down the ire rising inside of her. “I have a _life,_ Kylo. I can’t just abandon it.”

Rey feels the thought that he dares not voice - _but you can abandon me –_ and does not dignify it with a response. “Where I spend my time – I can’t just _forsake_ my duties, I have _friends._ I spend more time here than I should already.”  Rey does her best to keep her voice gentle, but firm.

“Forget it,” he mutters, and lies back down. His back is presented to her as if an insult, as if he weren’t just clinging to her for dear life.

Rey does the same, and they fall asleep.

When she wakes up, the bed is empty. She can hear the water in the ‘fresher, and Rey wonders if she can get out of a confrontation if she pretends to be asleep. Maybe she _should_ leave – he didn’t seem like he wanted her around after their little spat last night, anyway.

No sooner does the thought cross her mind than the water abruptly cuts off and he storms back into the bedroom, towel around his waist.

 _Oh, the benefits of living with a Force-sensitive,_ Rey thinks to herself, and prepares for a fight that’s been a long time coming.

.

.

.

It is not until he is standing there, water still sluicing off of him and towel clutched around his waist, that Kylo Ren realizes he must look ridiculous.

Rey is sitting up on the bed, naked, the blankets pooled around her waist.

He bares his teeth in a snarl. “So that’s it, then? Not even a good bye.”

“You hardly seem to want my company,” Rey mutters. She’s looking at her hands, not meeting his eyes.

“I was thinking the same of you.”

Rey’s eyes flicker up at him. She opens an arm, scoots over, and Kylo Ren gets the message. He falls into her hug easily, ire forgotten. She doesn’t seem to mind that his hair is dripping wet all over her.

“I leave because I have to,” she says at length. “Not because I want to. I need you to understand that.”

“I do,” he says. He sighs against her. This is perhaps the first time in his life he’s glad to have a reason to _not_ be angry. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“You don’t need to like it. Just understand. I – there’s nobody else. I’m not…leaving for that.”

Kylo didn’t realize how badly he’d needed to hear those words until they were spoken. “Okay,” he says, burying his face in her neck to hide the grin splitting his face. “Okay.”

She draws him into a kiss. “I love you, remember?” she says, and Kylo Ren thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is what heaven is.

“So much,” he murmurs against her mouth. She throws her arms around his neck and deepens the kiss; Kylo Ren is more than happy to oblige.

Kylo Ren knows that not all of his demons are silenced. Rey is a marvelous woman, but even she couldn’t do that. And yet…

The sunlight from the window is streaming behind her, making her look _gold_ around the edges.

She is _radiant._

She is _his._

He could be hers, too – if she would have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate endings - I know this is a bit lighter than the other chapters, but it seemed right to me. Thoughts? 
> 
> If you want to chat, request prompts, or offer to beta, drop by my [tumblr](www.littlemanicmonday.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you again for your wonderful support with this project <3 I love this crazy fandom.


End file.
